


Farewell and remember me

by Julie_Anne



Series: Through the wars [8]
Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster, The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Ralph Lanyon and his extensive list of issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Anne/pseuds/Julie_Anne
Summary: My first atempt at a crossover - and it seems to have turned out rather decent, if I do say so myself....In Malta, as the summer of '33 comes to an end, Maurice and Alec prepare to receive a mysterious guest. It's someone who'll conquer their hearts and won't be easily forgotten.





	1. The lame duck

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A bit more soiled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109001) by [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/pseuds/Lilliburlero). 



**Very hesitating and frightened author's foreword:**

I hesitated for months before doing this, though it all started here, actually. [This fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109001) started it all, for it got me to write fic. Still, Charioteer fic seems so much above my league... So, Ralph here is only 19, maybe 20. I thought he deserved a bit of family love before those terrible years. And a few good memories to hang on to in distress. And I believe he'd get on pretty well with Maurice since they have a lot in common. Ralph always seemed to me like a broken version of Maurice, so it's only fair he gets to see what an unbroken version of Ralph might look like. As for dear Maddox, he is more an idea than a real character. I did read _David Blaize_ a couple of times (I had to, right?) but that can hardly compete with 30 years of reading _Maurice_ and 20 something of reading _The_ _Charioteer_...

 

 

From the first week of working with Maurice, Angela had learned the rule about his surname. Scudder was fine, it was the name he had used since 1913, it was the name everyone in Malta knew him by, but it was actually Alec's family name and not his. Maurice's real surname was Hall, and only a select handful of people knew that.

\- So, if someone asks for Hall, it falls into one of these three groups. One is family. That will be my brother in law, Chapman. He will say his name first, and request the call in advance. He is all right; you can put him through right away. Two, close friends from England. They are about half a dozen; I’ll give you the list. They too will volunteer their names right away. Three, close enemies. Those will not say who they are. Tell them they have the wrong number.

During the four years she had been working there, she had put through Mr. Chapman once, and one person from the list another time. She had told two unidentified men they had the wrong number. And now she had received a call from someone who had given his name, was not on the list, and asked for Hall. The man had a nice voice, and her instinct told her maybe Maurice had forgotten to list him. In a split second she decided he was worth a try. She had given an appropriate excuse « _I'll have to see if Mr. Hall has arrived, sir, if you'll be so kind to wait a few minutes..._ » and the man, who clearly had been expecting that kind of cautious answer, had promised to call again in half an hour. As soon as she put the telephone down, she knocked on the office’s door.

\- Maurice…?

\- Yes? Come in…

\- I’m sorry to disturb, but I have had a call from a Mr. Maddox. He is not on the list you gave me, but he asked for Mr. Hall, he gave me his name right away, and he _sounded_ right, so I thought I’d better ask… He expected me to, in fact he actually told me to remember you that you've met him in London, about six or seven years ago. He was very polite, charming even... And he’ll be calling again soon. Shall I put him through? The line is going rather bad though...

Maddox…? Not a common name, was it? Maurice knew the name but couldn’t place it. The last time he and Alec had been to England, seven years ago, after his mother's death, they had been out quite a lot: one of his then recent acquaintances was a wild party goer and at least Maurice had been certain he wouldn't meet undesirable people in those places, the kind of people he had left behind before the War – he remembered how the noise had given him a few nasty headaches though. And he had been introduced to so many fellows he could hardly recall a quarter of them!

Maddox… And all of a sudden he saw the man. Nice fellow, around his own age, half french, wasn't he? Handsome, amazing good taste for neckties, for clothes in general if you were going to notice that, slight limp, beautiful voice, all seeing eyes, one perpetually raised eyebrow, silent, but you could see his mind working feverishly… He had the faintest recollection of giving his card, one of the cards he rarely gave, with his real name, the address in Malta, and the telephone number, that was still the same for he had had the telephone transferred from home to the office, not to Maddox, who Maurice was quite certain though him a stuck-up bore, but to his friend, oh what was his name? Daniel? No, it was another biblical character... David! Writer, extremely handsome, extremely likeable.

He was intrigued, to put it mildly: what would the man want of him? He didn't look the kind of fellow to engage in dodgy business... Still, he was safe to put through.

\- Yes, I know him. Pass the call when it comes. I’ll wait if I need to.

There was no need to wait; the call came right away. The line was terrible, full of crackles and whistles, he got less than half of the talk and had to ask numerous questions just to understand the essential of it.

As soon as he put the telephone down, he had a talk with Angela, who had been observing his increasingly knitted brow and puzzled look.

\- In a few days, there'll be a young man arriving from England. His name is Langton, Laughton, Lanyon… something along those lines. I didn’t get his first name, the line really was a mess. These wretched machines sometimes give us more work than they save! He’ll ask for me, for Hall I mean. See that he stays if I’m out, and warn me right away if I’m in.

She made a mock salute, smiling.

\- Aye, Captain!

\- But first, get in touch with the operator to see if you can reverse the call, and cable our office address to the address connected to that number. I gave it, but I sincerely doubt he got it!

That same afternoon, at home, as Julie and Santo were setting the table in the warm kitchen, Mario had been sent to the dock to get Maurice's newspapers from the last ferry, Angelo was taking Madina to the pictures – lately love seemed to be enough to feed him and he rarely had dinner at home – Alec was showering upstairs, and he was watching over the big pan of chicken rice, he warned Giovanna.

\- We’ll be having a staying guest soon. A young man, and the friend who is sending him said he needs fattening up a bit. I’ll leave that in your capable hands, he'll be staying maybe some two weeks, enough time to recover from whatever he's been through, so I expect he'll like a bit of motherly care...

\- Are we opening an orphanage? - she asked, stirring some extra sugar in the lemonade jug – Clean napkins, Santo! Go put those in the laundry basket, they are covered in tomato stains, they look like they've been involved in some gruesome murder!

\- You sound just like Alec. – Maurice made his most earnest face, eyes wide open, and for a moment, he looked like a little boy making excuses to his mother – I sometimes think I am the only one with a heart in this house! No. At least I wasn't told anything about missing parents. From what I gathered, he got into some trouble and they will not care for him, so they are alive. I didn’t get the whole story, the line was appalling, so I don't really know what can have led to parents not caring for their only son, but I’ll get a letter with the details…

Giovanna laughed, interrupting what she was certain would be a very passionate defence of the unknown boy in question.

\- Oh, Alec is right; it’s so easy to tease you! As if you didn’t know me! Bring the boy in! We’ll put him in Alec’s room, it’s high time someone actually sleeps in there.

Alec, entering the kitchen, sniffed around, looking amused.

\- Someone actually sleeps where, may I ask? Do I smell a mystery?

\- No, it's chicken rice – answered Julie with a laugh, extinguishing the gas fire under the rice pan – and we almost lost it! Uncle is too worried about some new lame duck who's about to arrive and nearly forgot the dinner...

Stirring the pan with a big wooden fork, and relieved it hadn't burned after all, Maurice replied in a falsely plaintive voice.

\- He's not a lame duck! Really, have you all taken the day off to pick on me?

No one took his complaint seriously. As soon as everyone was seated and absorbed in a good plateful of rice, Alec asked:

\- So, who's the new... oh, all right, I won't call him lame duck... - because Maurice was rolling his eyes – Who's the newcomer?

\- I haven't the foggiest! Maddox is sending him, but the line was terrible, so I got less than half of the information. Hopefully I'll get the letter about it before the fellow arrives.

\- Maddox? You gave him your number? I had the idea you hadn't really got on very well with him...

\- I know. I'm sure he thinks I'm as interesting as a cold hot-water bottle in winter, it was in his eyes every time we met! He liked you though...

Alec laughed. Everyone laughed, for Maurice and Alec's good humoured bickering was part of the family atmosphere.

\- You know me, I'm an easy going bloke! Not stuck-up and boring like some people whose names I won't disclose... And what does he want of you?

\- From what I gathered, there's this boy... I don't know who he is, maybe one of his students, I really don't know... who needs a ship to work on...

\- That excludes all of his students, right? Posh university men don't need ships to work on...

\- The line was very bad! I only got that the boy has gone through some bad trouble, is in desperate need of a ship and needs fattening up a bit. So, I don't know... I guess it depends how deep the trouble is. All the rest is a complete mystery.

\- We'll all have to wait and see, then! - noted Julie helping herself to a second plateful of rice.

*******

Alec was glad something was happening to give Maurice a new interest and keep his mind out of the news from Germany. He had spent the summer feverishly reading the french and english newspapers and getting more and more worried as the news – and he had ways of knowing much more than the papers published, through his shady contacts – became increasingly disturbing.

They all went out for a walk along the coast after dinner. It was rather warm, and there were quite a lot of people, mostly young people and children taking after dinner walks along the same streets. Middle aged women were sitting on the wood benches overlooking the sea, in pairs or trios, gossiping and keeping an eye on playing children, elder men sat together fanning themselves with black fans and talking about how the world had been so much better when they were young. Soon Giovanna spotted Angelo and Madina, and Madina's sister, Laura, who always accompanied the pair, coming out of the movie theatre. She went with him to take the girls home, then Julie, Mario and Santo insisted they wanted to tag along, and Maurice and Alec were left to continue the stroll alone.

As twilight dissolved into early night and a cool breeze blew a little stronger, people began to return home, so the streets became more and more deserted. At about ten, they were slowly walking back home, but stopped for a bit just to look at the sea. That was one of the good things in La Valletta. You could always go look at the sea. They sat on one of the wooden benches in the nearly empty Upper Barrakka Gardens, facing the harbour.

\- This is so beautiful! – whispered Alec – It’s quite possible to forget there is a world outside full of terrible people…

\- I know. I come here when I need to think, it’s so relaxing. And the sea is so inspiring!

They sat still, discreetly holding hands, and quiet for a while. Then, Maurice spoke slowly and carefully.

\- Still, there is a world outside, full of terrible people. Alec, this is bad.

\- The boy arriving? Or the news from Germany?

Maurice kept his eyes on the sea. It was rather dark by then, but he could still hear its soft lapping on the low stone walls just below.

\- The boy is actually a welcome distraction. The news are very, very bad. I really don't know where this will lead us.

\- Us?

\- People. The world... Europe... I mean, a sovereign country has the right to govern itself the way it sees fit, but the things one hears from Germany, the things you saw, the things I've heard lately... I know the new Government's Party had the majority of votes and all that, but still I don't know, I really don't know...

*******

Already in her nightgown, Julie looked out of her bedroom window to see if Maurice and Alec were in sight. She had been with Giovanna and the boys to see Angelo's fiancée and her sister home. Then they had returned slowly, choosing the calm back streets. On arrival, Giovanna had sent the boys to bed. In vain they all protested, saying they were no longer children, but not very heartily. They knew their mother still saw them as children... Besides, she did have a point.

\- You all have to get up early in the morning, you know! I don't want to spend half an hour tomorrow trying to get you all out of bed early enough to have breakfast and leave in time.

She knew what she was saying. Angelo worked as a junior accountant at the Harbour Administration Office, and started work at 9. Mario had finished school in June and was now training in the Post Office, learning to operate the telegraph machine, and he started at 9 too. Maurice had put in a good word for them at the right time. He knew every important person in La Valletta and could pull all kinds of strings, even now when good jobs were so hard to find. Santo was still in school: he had started classes that same week, for the boy's school always started some ten or twelve days earlier and although he had only a couple of streets to walk, he too started classes at 9. He was the only one to reinforce the protest:

\- Julie is the youngest and she's staying up! It's not fair!

\- She doesn't have to get up early yet, young man!

\- Anyway – Julie hastened to confess – I'll just help Giovanna water the pots and then I'll go up. I'm sleepy...

She had intended to wait for Alec and Maurice, but it was after eleven and she really was getting drowsy. Her summer holidays were near the end, she would start school the following monday. Actually, she ought to be on her way to England, to boarding school, but she had appealed for an extra year at home. She didn't want to go away. She knew she'd eventually have to go, but the later she managed to do it the better. Maurice wasn't completely convinced though and she might still have to pack and go.

Hearing footsteps and muffled voices sounding in the silent street, she looked out yet again. Yes, she could make out their unmistakable silhouettes just coming around the corner. Alec, shorter, and Maurice, taller, walking side by side, very straight up the narrow and rather steep street. She remembered being very small and having to run to catch up with them, when they took her out.

Leaning out of the window, she heard Alec's voice «... I'm not completely at ease with this boarding school thing...». Her heart jumped. Maybe she would be able to stay after all, at least for another year.

*******

Julie closed the wooden doors that let the air in and left the glass doors open. It was still warm enough to do it. Sitting on her bed, she looked around. She loved her room. Juliet, her old doll, still sat on a small chair near the window. Her violin case and the music stand were neatly kept on the lower shelf of the big bookcase. The upper shelves were packed with all her beloved books and one was dedicated to her extensive notebook collection.

On top of her small chest of drawers she had a silver framed photograph of her mother, who had died when Julie was only two days old. Maurice and Alec had given her the photograph on her tenth birthday. She remembered it had been a very emotional moment, not because she missed her mother – after all she didn't remember anything and she had had such a happy childhood – but because both men had looked and sounded very moved.

«I'm going to miss home so much!», she thought «If I stay, I must keep every moment of this year to be able to remember it when I'm at that school. I wish I didn't have to go... Well, at least, if I am staying one last year I'll have Martha and Joan with me when I go. Beats having to go alone!»

Martha and Joan were her closest friends at school. Their father was a Navy Officer and had been stationed at Malta some three years before. The girls were not twins, just sisters, but having been born in the same year, one in January and the other in December, they both attended the same class. Julie had been a bit of a loner at school before their arrival. She found most girls in her class stuffy and silly, and they, in turn, thought her a queer fish, mainly because of what they heard at home: a girl brought up with no mother, by her most uncommon adoptive father ( _Who's ever heard of a man being a nurse?_ ) and her even more unorthodox uncle, a man who seemed to have a finger in every pie in the island and whose name was enough to frighten some people, even though he was a calm, agreeable, friendly man who never raised his voice.

Going away to boarding school might actually be fun if she had her friends with her so she had pleaded for the extra year. She had always known she had good chances of getting what she asked for. Neither her Da nor Maurice were really any good in saying no to their little girl. So she had pestered Maurice, the easiest to convince, all summer long, using all the best arguments she could muster.

\- Please, please, Uncle! I can go next year. Please! I promise to do all the extra works, and to take Miss Poole's Advanced Latin class, and to bring the best possible grades home every time.

She fully intended to keep her promise, and she was aware that good school results would work wonders with Maurice. She loved learning and it wasn't such a hard promise to make. She had been rewarded with a loving smile and Maurice's undivided attention.

\- So you'd prefer to go next year? You'll miss a full year, you know? You'll get behind …

\- But I can take the classes here, so no, I won't get behind. There is a group of five or six girls taking first year classes, because of the crisis, I heard Miss Parks say. School fees are high and some families are delaying sending the girls to boarding school. I'd even promise to run for one of the scholarships, but that would be unfair to Martha and Joan, wouldn't it?

Maurice had looked at her with surprise. She really seemed to have given the matter a great deal of thought.

\- Would it? Why?

\- Because their parents cannot afford the double fees even if they delay it for a whole year, and if one of them doesn't get a scholarship none of them will go. And we don't really need it, do we?

Though they lived frugally, mostly because it was the way they all liked to live, they were very well off. He had been forced to agree in the end. So he had wired Chapman to suspend Julie's school enrolment for the coming school year. He was talking it over with Alec as they walked home.

\- She's terrible! You should have seen her face! She tortured me all summer long, the little monkey!

Alec snorted with laughter.

\- You've only got yourself to blame, my dear! It's all your work, you know?

Maurice was going to answer back, but Alec didn't let him:

\- Seriously now, we knew it would happen. We brought her up to be clever and curious, and we did indulge her a bit too much, maybe...It's only natural she outsmarts us! Still, she is right, we don't need it. And I'm glad she's staying one year longer. I must confess I hadn't remembered that it would be so soon! You know I'm not completely at ease with this boarding school thing. It didn't do you all that good, as far as I remember.

\- Girls' schools are different. Besides, it's been almost thirty years since I left school, things are bound to have changed. And she's had a different upbringing, hasn't she? She's such a free spirit at twelve! It'll do her good, you'll see. And she needs good tutoring, better than the school here can give her. She's already beginning to see through some of her teachers.

\- Anyway, it's good to have her for another year yet. And this way, she'll have her friends with her. Nice kids, aren't they? Maybe they'll act as an antidote for all the posh girls she'll meet there. I wouldn't like to have our Julie turned into some insufferable Miss Hall! One insufferable Hall is all I can take!

 


	2. Breakfast and Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph found the room, slipped out of the bathrobe and between the clean, sweet smelling sheets of the already open bed, a few questions lurking at the back of his mind: «I don't know this man! I'm not like this! I don't trust people I don't know... Damn! I don't even trust people I know... Why does this place feel so safe and home-like? I've never felt safe before...».

Having spent two and a half days – or maybe more, he had lost track of time at some point - travelling from train to boat, to he didn't really know how many slow regional trains one after the other, and boat again, Ralph arrived to La Valletta so tired, he was unable to recall later more than a few disconnected scenes, as in a long forgotten but quite vivid dream. At first, he had been afraid of falling asleep on the train and missing some connection and that had actually happened once. After the first twenty four hours fighting sleep, he had fallen into a sort of confused haze, drifting into light fits of uneasy sleep, haunted with scraps of tangled half-awake nonsensical dreams. He had only the faintest recollection of having run to trains, hopping on, hopping off, and having here and there a cup of strong, bitter coffee just to keep awake or a sandwich to stop his stomach from rumbling too loud… 

Frank had offered to buy him a couple of tickets to the luxurious trains that would carry him till Paris in a little over six hours, and to Marseille by the end of the same day but he had obstinately refused it. 

\- It's silly to be so pig headed, my dear. The way you are planning, it will take you two days to reach Marseille, you'll arrive in Malta exhausted, and there is really no need.

He had come to regret it, still then it had seemed like the right thing to do. Frank had been generous enough to put him on the right track, call his friend, and help Ralph plan the voyage. To take his money as well, Ralph thought, would have made the whole thing sordid and he wanted to be through with that part of his life. As the slow trains rattled, his mind had been working at an alarming speed, running time and time again the film of the last few days. Why had he even agreed with it all? Why had he trusted Frank? Ralph trusted no one, he had learned it the hard way. After a day and a half he became too tired to care, though.

On the ferry to Malta, knowing he was no longer in danger of ending in the wrong place, he had settled in a corner with his rucksack under his head for pillow and fallen into a deep sleep but the feeling of walking on the edge of something dangerous that had become quite familiar didn't let him rest properly. He dreamt of Odell looking at him with those wide and bewildered eyes and Ralph tried to hold out a hand (was it to help or to secure himself?), but his arms wouldn't move and it hurt; the kind of absurd and painful things that had been haunting his sleep since leaving school. He had woken up with one of the sailors shaking him:

\- Last stop, son! Unless you want to go back the same way...

He had had no time to see the island approaching, nor to make himself look a little more presentable. He hadn't shaved nor had a proper bath in three days, and his clothes were crumpled and probably rather dirty, no matter how careful he had been to avoid it. It was near noon, and the sun was shining, the fierce light hurt his eyes and the hot air was heavy and made it damned difficult to walk fast. The city had a special light of its own, most buildings were golden yellow, and made of some stone that appeared to crumble like sugar, there were lots of small wooden balconies painted in bright colours, mostly blue, red and green, and all the streets gave the impression of going up. He managed, with some difficulty, asking for directions twice, to find the office he was looking for in the maze of narrow streets – he later perceived they were quite easy to follow and no maze at all. Inside and up the flight of stairs it felt dark and cool, and it appeared to be the right place, because the pretty girl in the anteroom gave a look at the small envelope and smiled:

\- Mr. Scudder has been expectiong you, sir, he'll will see you in a minute… - and pointed a chair.

Ralph sat down thinking that was not the name. He was very tired however, and fell asleep almost at once, sinking again in a confuse half-dream of trains rattling and Frank’s voice repeating « _Hall is a dependable fellow. He’s absurdly tedious, he's probably a crook, but good as gold._ ». So the name was Hall, the girl had it wrong… Then he drifted deeper into sleep, deeper, deeper … 

\- Mr. Lanyon?

He woke up, startled. The girl was standing in front of him, smiling apologetically:

\- I am sorry, sir, but Mr. Scudder will see you now. If you will follow me…

He collected his small rucksack and followed her along a dark passage, heard her knock lightly on the closed door, open it and announce:

\- It’s Mr. Lanyon to see you, sir…

A man’s voice, deep and pleasant, answered:

\- Yes, thank you, Angela. Send him in…

Angela stepped back to let him through, and Ralph walked into a room so full of golden sunlight he could hardly look up after the dark corridor. He heard the soft click of the door closing behind him. He let his eyes adjust to the sudden strong light before looking up, and when he did, he saw a man, tall and blond, holding out a big hand.

\- I’m Hall. How d’you do?

His handshake was firm and strong. The boy answered automatically:

\- How d’you do, sir? Ralph Lanyon.

\- Sit down. Angela told me you were sound asleep in the entrance hall… Are you all right?

\- Oh, yes sir, thank you!

As he walked out of the the intense light, Ralph could see the man. He was rather handsome. He had eyes of a beautiful grey blue. His fair skin was tanned to a light golden tone and his cheeks and nose were sprinkled with dark golden freckles. As he spoke, Ralph noticed his full lips and the pleasant smile that made some tinny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, that might have made him look older than he was but instead just added to his charm. Even sitting down, the man looked extremely fit, almost like an athlete, and gave an idea of calm and contained strength. He was probably around Frank’s age, mid to late forties, his hairline was receding and he probably was growing white hair too, though he was so blond it didn’t show, but had a kind of radiance about him.

\- Excuse me, sir, but is your name Hall or Scudder? Frank told me to meet Mr. Hall, but your secretary said Scudder, I’m certain…

The man laughed. A low, soft rumble, madly contagious. Ralph smiled, quite involuntarily.

\- My real name is Hall. Here, I use Scudder. When someone asks for Hall, I know a close friend sent that person. Might be a close enemy, of course, but those don't visit...

\- I see… - he didn’t but was too tired to care.

\- So… I heard you have a complicated story …? - even his voice was agreeable, low and soothing - Frank vouches for you, so you must have made quite an impression. He didn't seem to be the trusting kind when I met him.

\- It’s a long story, sir…

\- I gathered that much, from the letter he sent me. – he was very serious, his gaze intense - I just hope it's not over complicated…

So Frank hadn't told the whole story. Rather decent of him. Ralph looked down for a second. However, he immediately looked up again and replied:

\- Not over complicated, sir. I would rather not talk about it just now, though.

Hall smiled again. His voice sounded even softer then.

\- I don't care how complicated your story is. My line of business is quite complicated too, if we come to that. Maddox told me on the phone that you don’t usually let people help you but made an exception for him. I was a bit like that myself… oh, years and years ago, more than I’d like to admit. But still I was older, and I was not alone. I take it that you are prepared to accept my help as well. You can accept it as a bit of kindness between equals. Or you can pretend I’m some kind of father figure… If I had had a son, he might be around your age. Now, let us be practical: I may take a couple of weeks to find you a suitable ship. Do you have a place to stay?

Ralph looked at him. He could usually read people at a glance, but he was way too tired and confused. The man seemed to get it all in a moment.

\- I’m being a bore. How long since you had a decent meal? Or a bath? Or some undisturbed sleep?

Ralph smiled wearily:

\- I had a sandwich at Marseille last night. The other things… I guess two, maybe three days…

\- And you have no place to stay?

Ralph was too exhausted to think straight. He had very little money, and he did not know the island. He had no place to stay, hadn't even given it a thoguht. He was certain he would find something though, if he could only summon enough energy to keep going.

\- I made no actual plans… but I suppose I’ll find something. – he admitted, trying to sound assertive and failling completely.

Hall’s eyes twinkled.

\- You can stay at our place. Giovanna will be delighted with another young person to mother, you’ll see. Come with me!

*******

Maurice knew he couldn't laugh, after all the boy was half-asleep on his feet, or as good as. The man admired the effort but he could see through the courageous self-sufficiency. There was a significant amount of self-punishment in there too and Maurice knew where that might lead. He was going to take the kid under his wing for the next few days.

Maddox's letter had arrived the day before, bearing the boy's story in general lines and revealing he'd refused to go by the fast trains and would take some three or four days to arrive. He read again the last line. _«Lanyon_ _is in deep waters and I fear he may drown. Damaged goods, if you get my drift._ »

Even in writing, it had a sad ring to it. To Maurice it sounded sadder after seeing the boy, the kind of desperate dignity that held him together, his clear blue eyes, and his serious and grave face. He fully intended to find out the extent of the damage. For the moment, Maurice was certain the boy was about to collapse from exhaustion. He looked absurdly young, and would certainly look even younger after he'd had a good rest and a few decent meals. His sunken eyes and greyish complexion told of serious lack of sleep, and an equaly serious lack of good food for some time, not just the three or four last days.

Ralph had picked up his rucksack and followed him, looking a bit bewildered by the man’s energy. Maurice guessed he would have refused, or at least tried to, if he had been strong enough to do it. Instead, he had just reacted instinctively to the authority that rang in the man's voice.

\- Angela, I’m taking the boy home. He’s properly done in… Call the Clinic and ask them to warn Alec, will you? Call if you need me. – he looked around – Oh, there you are! Let’s go, I don’t want you to faint from hunger!

Outside, the sun was fierce, and although it was late September the heat fell on Ralph like a blow. He almost had to run to keep up with the man's fast pace. The streets were very nearly deserted.

\- No one in his right mind is out at this hour. But it’s close enough…

In a few minutes they were going up the steep and narrow street, opening the door and into the sombre and cool patio with stone floor. The boy drew in a deep breath. It smelled of freshly baked bread, lemon tree flowers, and clean linen. He sighted and Maurice was acutely aware of all the tiredness falling on the boy like a load of bricks, and held him just in time.

\- Are you fainting on me? – and he called out – Giovanna!

Giovanna appeared, drying her hands with a kitchen towel.

\- Maurice! I was not expecting you so early. Is this the young man? The room is not ready yet!

\- Yes, this is Ralph Lanyon. He needs a warm bath, a bit of breakfast and a bed. He’s been travelling for the last three days and most likely had nothing remotely decent to eat since he left England…

\- Poor thing! Are you sure he can climb the stairs? He looks half-dead, he's white as a sheet…

*******

Ralph clung to the man's arm. He felt dizzy, his head was too light and his body suprisingly heavy. He could hear the woman’s voice speaking from very far away and, for a minute, he thought he was going to faint and was tremendously ashamed. He didn't, though. In the meanwhile, Hall had probably decided it was too risky to try and make the boy climb two fights of steep stone steps, and holding his arm, spoke to him with the kind of voice an adult would use to a sleepy child.

\- Sit on the step and lower your head. Stay with me, Lanyon! Don't faint, please! I'll help you walk, but you're too heavy to carry, so make an effort! - then to the woman - Go ahead and run him a bath down here, will you? He can sleep in Angelo's bed for now. Here, take his backpack, I can help him!

The man's voice sounded soft but firm. Ralph was hearing a piercing ringing sound, and could hardly see clear, would have thrown up if he had anything to throw up, but slowly he felt the sickness subside and his heartbeat steady. After what felt like long minutes he stood tentatively, trying hard to keep upright, leaning heavily on the man. The strength and warmth of that big fellow felt good, gave him a sense of safety. Then they were in a bathroom, full of light. There was a bathtub in a corner, water still running from a tap. Carefully, the man made him sit on a chair and held his head down for a few moments more.

\- That's it, keep your head down a little longer, and breathe deeply… - and then, as the boy began to breathe normally - Better?

\- Yes, thank you, sir.

\- Can you undress yourself? Can I leave you here alone? – he asked in a most worried tone. – Or do you need help? I worked as a nurse during the war…

Hall had certainly noticed how he blushed, but he couldn't help it.

\- I’m fine now, sir, I can manage.

\- You're not going to smash yourself on the floor, or drown in the tub, are you?

\- No, sir, I promise! - he was feeling better, the ringing had stopped, the worst of it was over.

Alone, Ralph undressed slowly, folding his clothes tidily, and stepped into the warm bath. It felt like heaven, and he was tempted to just stretch and close his eyes, but he knew better than to fall asleep in a full bathtub. He ducked his head under the water and that gave him back vigour enough to scrub away all the dust, and grime, and sweat of the last three days. As he was coming out of the bath, someone knocked.

\- I’m naked! – he screamed. He was not terribly modest but it might be the woman.

\- I’ve given birth to three boys! I’ve seen naked men before… - she laughed and came in anyway. He turned his back to her in an automatic reflex of properness, feeling awkward.

She collected his clothes, smiling appreciative at how neat he was with his things, and left a thick blue bathrobe on the chair. She said nothing, but gave an appalled glance at the faded bruises on the boy’s thin body.

After the bath, Ralph felt very fresh and clean, and famished. He could have shaved but he thought it would be better to wait, as his hands were unsteady. He supposed the room would be the one in front with the open door, and he was right. The whole room was quite austere, whitewashed walls, stone floor, three beds, two night tables between them, a big old fashioned wardrobe, a small chest of drawers and a couple of chairs. The wooden window doors were half closed keeping the fierce sunlight out, making it sombre and cool.

\- Come outside to eat. - Hall called.

There was a big table outside, and it was set with three places at one end. Hall and Giovanna were already sitting. There was a big plate of scrambled eggs, still steaming, a basket of rolls, sausages, fresh butter and a jar of vivid red jam, a steaming teapot and a small jug of fresh milk. There was also a big glass bowl with grapes, the biggest grapes he had ever seen, pinkish and translucent.

\- Thanks for the bathrobe... I have clean clothes, but I'm afraid they'll be all crumpled...

\- Oh, that's Alec's. Mine would be too big.

The woman bid him to sit. She was roughly around Hall's age, short, plump, dark and pretty, with very dark brown eyes, and dark hair rolled up in a neat bun. There was a motherly sweetness emanating from her soft voice. For a split second, Ralph remembered his own mother and her icy properness, and his eyes pricked with repressed tears. She must have noticed it, because her smile grew warmer.

\- I'll give them a quick press after lunch. - she promissed.

\- I must say you look much better now. I thought you were going to pass out completely! Eggs? It's a bit early for lunch but I thought we might keep you company, so you won't fall asleep at the table.

\- Would you like tea? – Giovanna asked – Maurice says Malta is too hot for tea, but Alec likes it anyway…

\- Yes, please, tea would be wonderful… and eggs too, thank you.

He sat down and forced himself to eat as politely slowly as he could. He hadn't really konown how hungry he was until he started eating. The scrambled eggs were perfect, moist and creamy. The rolls were still warm, crispy on the outside; the butter was delicious and the strawberry jam had actual whole strawberries in it, soft and juicy. The hot tea seemed to reach every inch of his thirsty body. The grapes were magnificent. The skin broke under his bite with a faint «pop» and the inside was pure delight, sweet and tart at once. Hall and Giovanna had a cup of tea each and some eggs, and watched as he ate, talking about unimportant things like the weather and how good the rolls tasted.

As he was eating the grapes, a wave of warm sleepiness came over him. He had some trouble keeping his eyes open.

\- You're half-asleep already. – Hall warned him – Have a good nap. At night your room upstairs will be ready and I dare say you'll have recovered enough to climb two flights.

Ralph found the room, slipped out of the bathrobe and between the clean, sweet smelling sheets of the already open bed, a few questions lurking at the back of his mind: «I don't know this man! I'm not like this! I don't trust people I don't know... Damn! I don't even trust people I know... Why does this place feel so safe and home-like? I've never felt safe before...». Still he was too tired to brood about it for long. As he nestled under the light covers, a big grey cat climbed up and rolled into a furball close to his feet. Ralph mumbled «Hi, cat! Thanks for the company...!» and fell asleep in a matter of minutes, a deep, replenishing sleep with no dreams to haunt him this time.

 


	3. Damaged goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth was he felt good. As if he had known them all his life, as if he was certain they could be trusted. As if he had just acquired a whole family. As if he could let his guard down while he was staying there.

Ralph woke up in a strange room. He had the faint recollection of a pleasant dream, cricket and sunny meadows, and felt very good. There was a big grey cat curled up at his feet. Ralph’s life had changed so much and so fast in the last few months he wasn’t even mildly startled by the strangeness of waking up and not knowing where he was. He just stretched and in doing so, woke up the cat that stretched as well and then approached the boy, purring loudly.

\- Hello cat!

And he remembered where he was. Frank’s friend, Hall or Scudder or whatever was the fellow’s name. With that memory, all the events of the last days came to him. God, he had as good as fainted in the man’s arms, how embarrassing was that… As he obligingly scratched the cat’s ears, he looked around. It was a big room, probably a former storehouse of some kind, judging from the small and rather high placed windows. With its three single beds in a neat row, it looked like a small dorm, and he was reminded of school for a moment. It was a bittersweet memory, for he loved school and felt home there, and the loss of that had hurt him deeply. «Snap out of it this instant!» he ordered himself harshly «All that is behind you now! You ruined it well and truly, now don't get all mushy over what you can no longer fix.»

His change of clothes, now impeccably pressed, lay on the next bed. Even his shoes had been cleaned and polished, and were waiting for him. He could hear voices coming from somewhere near.

Ralph got out of bed, wrapped himself in the bathrobe, held the cat in his arms, and went to one of the windows. The sun must be quite low, for the wall in front was now totally in the shade. The cat purred audibly and bumped his furry head against the boy's face.

\- At least you seem to like me. - he whispered – Not that I have any reason to complain. Both Hall and the woman were quite decent and they don't even know me...

He put the cat down. Then he felt his stubbly chin and looked for his shaving kit. The cat followed him to the bathroom and jumped into the sink to drink from the tap while Ralph shaved. The mirror showed him a most unflattering image. «I look like someone who’s been dead and buried for a couple of days…!», he whispered to himself.

The cat followed him again to the room and watched intently as the boy dressed. Then, majestically calm, he guided Ralph to the patio. There were so many people around the table, the boy had some difficulty in finding the ones he already knew: Hall, Giovanna and, strangely enough, the pretty secretary he had met at the office.

\- Hello! You look much better… Come and sit down, we were waiting for you but no one had the heart to wake you up, so we decided to start having an extended tea!- Hall called with a smile - Everybody, this is Ralph Lanyon.

All the heads turned. They were mostly kids.

\- Let me introduce you. This extremely good looking fellow is Alec. Angela, you already know. Those three boys are Giovanna’s sons. Angelo, the tallest, then Mario and the little tyke is Santo. – the «little tyke» was about Ralph’s stature – This grasshopper of a girl is our own Julie.

Giovanna’s boys were all rather handsome, dark and with their mother’s liquid eyes. They all seemed very absorbed in their eating and only mumbled «Hi!». Julie was a gangly teenage girl, with that uncomfortable look of one who has grown a good deal very fast and hardly knows what to do with her arms and legs. She had beautiful dark eyes and golden light brown hair done in a thick braid down her back. She didn’t seem to mind being called a grasshopper and just laughed.

\- Hi, there! Don't pay attention to Uncle. I'll soon fill up, I dare say! And you look about as thin as me...

The man Hall had presented as Alec had silvery grey hair in a very short, almost military-like cut, sharp and bright brown eyes, and was absurdly good looking! He gave Ralph an attentive look and a pleasant smile, before asking:

\- Are you feeling better, now? Maurice reported you almost passed out...

\- I'm as good as new, thank you, sir... - he answered as he sat down at the table, while thinking «I could totally fall for a man like you, sir!» and feeling guilty at the same time, for harbouring such a thought.

\- Never mind Da – Julie advised as she poured him tea – He's a nurse and is always trying to assure we are in perfect health. He'll probably check your blood pressure after tea and make you eat watercress with your bacon sandwiches to fortify your blood or something.

Soon Ralph was completely dedicated to the delicious task of consuming a vast tea. He hadn't seen such a wonderfully full tea table in months. All through it, he was rapidly thinking, trying to unravel the family connections between the people at the table. The boys were Giovanna's sons, but there seemed to be no father in the picture. What could be her connection with the men? The girl had referred to Alec as Da, but that did not fit in with what Frank had told him about Hall and his companion. Maybe Alec had adopted the girl. As for the young secretary, why was she having tea with them? Was she family? He had no idea that such an unconventional household could exist.

All the others talked and laughed as they ate, and Giovanna kept his cup and plate full. The cat, that seemed to have adopted him, jumped to his knees and was delighted with the scraps of cheese and ham Ralph gave him.

\- Smoke, you rascal! Leave the boy alone, will you? - Alec called, and the cat's head popped up at the sound of the man's voice – Abandoning your old friends for the newcomer, I see...

\- He was sleeping at my feet when I woke up just now...

Julie got up and the cat jumped down to meet her. She picked him up and he curled in her arms, purring, but still surveying Ralph with his big yellowish eyes.

\- If Smoke likes you, you're officially one of us! Beware, he is very protective. If he has adopted you, he'll never lose you from sight while you stay indoors. He doesn't go out though, he hates the street.

The sun was setting when they got off the table. The three younger ones, Julie and the two boys, seemed to be in charge of clearing the table. Angela put on her hat, wrapped herself in a coat and said good-bye.

\- See you tomorrow, Maurice. Thanks for the wonderful tea, Giovanna. I must run! If I get home after sunset, I'll be in for a motherly talk from Mamma Rondina... Good-night everybody!

She left and they all could hear her heels clicking as she went down the street.

A few moments later, Angelo, who had gone in to fetch his hat and coat, said good-bye and left as well.

\- I'm taking Madina and Laura for a stroll by the sea.

The adults kept to their seats around the table. Ralph got up to help with the clearing, but Maurice called him back:

\- Let them do it, it's their chore. You're a guest, and you are not completely recovered. You still look like you could do with a good night's sleep and a few good meals...

Alec put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

\- You're all bones! Tomorrow you're coming with me to the clinic. I would like one of the doctors to take a good look at you.

\- It's very kind of you, sir, but there's no need, really!

Alec didn't let him say another word.

\- Tut-tut! I know a little bit more than you about these things, young man!

He sounded so much like a sensible uncle, Ralph couldn't help smiling. «What are these people doing to me?» he thought in amazement «What is this place?»

The truth was he felt good. As if he had known them all his life, as if he was certain they could be trusted. As if he had just acquired a whole family. As if he could let his guard down while he was staying there.

*******

After the first two days, Ralph had lost the famished look, and as Maurice had predicted looked younger than he actually was. He adopted at once the family’s schedule for meals and sleeping hours. He got up early; showered and shaved without making any noise – he was remarkably silent and discreet – made his own bed with a degree of perfection that would have delighted even Alec’s Chief Nurse, went downstairs, and set the table for breakfast before Giovanna, the early bird of that household, had managed to put her apron on.

\- You don’t have to, you know? – she had remarked, smiling – The kids usually do it…

\- I like helping. You are all being so kind to me…

Alec had very nicely bullied him into the Clinic the day after his arrival and asked one of the doctors to give him a full checkup. He had assured there was nothing wrong with the boy, at least nothing that a wholesome diet, plenty of sunlight and fresh air, and good replenishing sleep couldn’t cure. So Giovanna forced him to have double helpings of everything she put on the table, he was invited to accompany Maurice in his long afternoon digestive walks, and was sent to bed at eleven, just like the younger family members.

Maurice had taken him to the barber shop for a haircut. When he'd tried to pay for it, the older man had just ignored the attempt and paid.

\- Kindness between equals, remember! Or just pretend I'm your father. And you know where I live, so you can pay me back when you have the money. - and Ralph had had to laugh.

Once, he let his iron discipline fall off a bit and played ball with Julie and the younger boys. At the end of the game, he looked absurdly young and carefree, and happy, flushed and sweaty, his hair all tousled, just like a schoolboy. Once he volunteered to help Julie plough through one of her first Greek lessons, and after that they got on like a house on fire. He appeared to like Alec very much and they had discovered a mutual point of interest in sailor's songs. Alec had a fine voice and had learned an enormous repertoire of sea shanties during the war. Ralph didn't know half as much, but was a fast learner. Above all, after just a few days, he had begun to look up to Maurice and Giovanna as any young man would look up to his parents.

\- The kid worships you! – declared Alec after maybe a week.

\- There is something very wrong with him… - answered Maurice, who had been thinking about Ralph but hadn't actually paid attention to Alec's words.

\- Because he worships you?

It was past midnight and everybody in the house was sleeping except for them. Alec had just arrived from his weekly early-night shift and they were in their room having a late cup of tea.

\- Of course not! That is easily understandable: he badly needs loving parents. Haven’t you noticed the way he looks at Giovanna? - Maurice frowned in a mixture of disapproval and disbelief - I can’t help but wonder what his people are like… I’ve never met anyone so starved for family love.

\- He is so much like you were when we first met!

\- I've been thinking about that a lot. I can see what you mean, but I was older. And I'd had plenty of family love. My mother was a bit shallow but she loved us all and there was no doubt about it.

He reflected for a few moments before adding:

\- And I was all in a muddle, while he seems to have very fixed and clear ideas, misguided as they appear to be.

\- I wasn't meaning it like that. It's that kind of silent despair, that steel-like resolution. He is determined to stand up straight and go on, no matter how hurt he has been. And I believe he has been badly hurt...

Maurice couldn't help a loving smile at Alec's insight.

\- That's exactly what I meant about something being very wrong about him. He's nineteen! He has his whole life ahead, why is he so determined to live it the hardest way possible?

\- I wouldn't know, I was never like that. Why where you, back then?

Maurice frowned slightly again, going back in time and trying to see into his young and muddled self.

\- Well, it seemed like the only proper thing to do then. I mean, Clive was gone for good, the hypnotist had failed to change me, you were about to put an ocean between us, I had behaved in a beastly way towards my poor sisters just because I felt miserable... The only way was gather myself together, hold my head up and at least be a decent person, since it looked like happiness was not for me.

Putting it in words almost made him cry for his younger self. What a bleak prospect to have at twenty-four! And Ralph was much younger...

\- Still, he's nineteen! What can have happened to make him give up on himself at such an early age?

\- No idea. Once or twice I believed he was just about to say something, but all of a sudden he shut up like a clam! What did Frank say in the letter? Now I'd like to know.

Maurice hadn't told Alec the full content of the letter before, at Alec's own request. He had wanted to meet the boy first, without preconceived ideas about him.

\- Oddly enough, the whole story, and still very little at the same time. He only hinted it, as one never knows how safe it really is to write about these things. He got involved with a younger boy at school, and it was bad enough for Ralph to be sent down right before the end of the school year. - he searched for the letter in his agenda and then for his reading glasses on the bedside table – Then, either he had no plan or something failed him badly.

\- But shouldn't he have gone home?

\- Well, Frank suggests that he did go home at first but it went badly. I gather he's had a rough summer. Here, Frank's last words are _«Lanyon_ _is in deep waters and I fear he may drown. Damaged goods, if you get my drift._ »

\- Damaged goods? That's strong...! From what you told me, that kind of involvement is not unheard of in those posh schools of yours! Go figure what goes through the illuminated heads that put boys that age all crammed together and then expect them not to make a few experiments with sex...

\- Reading between the lines, I'd say he's had more than just a few experiences with sex in the last few months. Still somehow I have the feeling that Frank meant something completely different.

 


	4. A safe haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph is an enigma. But Maurice and Alec's household is enigmatic to him as well.

The boy was an enigma. Maurice had caught him a few times staring blindly out of the window with such pain in his blue eyes it was almost unbearable to witness. Yet, as soon as he felt another’s eyes on him, he’d turn on his self-sufficient persona in a wink.

Julie, who got on very well with him, had summed it up in a statement that had gone straight to Maurice’s heart, both for the pride he’d felt on the young girl’s wisdom and for the sadness its accuracy implied. «I don’t know what’s going on inside Ralph’s mind, but it feels as if he’s encased in glass and cannot be touched no matter how hard we try…»

Encased in glass, how true it was! Maurice’s first impulse would have been to ask. Alec dissuaded him of doing so.

\- He’ll tell you when he’s ready. He’d have told Julie by now if she was a couple of years older and a boy. Whatever it is, he’s not proud of it, I even believe it’s quite the opposite. He needs time to come to terms with it and only then we may expect him to come clean.

How typical of Alec to have noticed all that without a word, without a question, all from observing attentively. That was one of the qualities that made him such a good nurse, and one Maurice lacked.

\- But he hasn’t told the boys either. Angelo is only two years older than Ralph… he might feel the need to confide…

Alec laughed heartily. He had observed Ralph, and it was plain the boy had trust issues. And who could blame him, after what had happened?

\- Confide? That one? I think he’d rather die! Remember Frank’s letter. He must have learned suspicion the hard way. He’ll trust you, in the end, because he worships you.

Maurice frowned. Damned complicated kid!

\- So how come you believe he’d have told Julie if she was a boy?

\- For some mysterious reason, he has a higher degree of trust in Julie than in anyone else. It’s one of those things you cannot explain. We see that all the time at the clinic: some people trust you the moment you meet them, some others will always want a second and a third opinion…

So, following Alec’s advice, Maurice took his time choosing a ship for Ralph. There was, after all, no reason to hurry it.

First and he had to give Alec the credit for that, it was the sensible thing to do. He had to choose carefully. Most HMS Scoundrels were captained by men that were far from being trustworthy and he would never put Ralph in such hands. Starting bellow deck with the wrong accent would always be tough, but it needn't be dangerous. A few of the men he did business with though, were kind hearted crooks, a bit like he was himself, good honest men who had managed or been compelled by some circumstance to accommodate a small thread of dishonesty in their lives, and he had to aim for one of those. Second, that would allow the young man time to recover, to rest from what had clearly been a trying period in his life, and to build up the amount of trust, or courage, or maybe even both, needed to confess and get rid of whatever emotional luggage was weighing him down. In the meantime, he kept the boy occupied, giving him small tasks at the office or asking him to run a few errands.

Having something useful to do was the best thing that could happen to Ralph. Most of the time, he was extraordinarily self-contained, efficient and calm. As long as he felt he was being useful, he had little time to brood over his own misery.

When he had nothing else to do, he read. Maurice had a good selection of books, poetry mostly, but as he had carefully planned for Julie’s education, he had fine editions of the literary classics, both ancient and modern, French as well as English and even a few Germans, and he had never let go of Plato, for sentimental reasons above all. If Ralph wasn't reading, then he would be writing. He did write a lot. He'd brought precious little luggage with him, only the small backpack Giovanna had carried for him on that first day, but he'd brought a notebook and a pen.

*******

Ralph felt he was blending in. For the first time he was allowing himself to relax. It was even better than school, this place. There was no need to stand with his back to the wall, defensive and breathless. At the same time, though, that was awkward and he wasn’t used to it. Was this the way normal people lived? It couldn’t be, these people were everything but normal. Still, they were providing Ralph with the closest thing he’d ever have to a happy and carefree childhood. And he was going to enjoy every single moment of it.

\- How good are you peeling potatoes? – asked Giovanna from the kitchen – My husband was a sailor and he was very good at it…

Ralph closed the book he had been reading, leaving a bookmark on the page, and answered at once.

\- Rather good, if I do say so myself! I worked my passage to Iceland during summer holidays, a couple of years ago, and got quite a good training at that.

She pointed at a basket full of big potatoes.

\- Get to it, then. We’re having shepherd’s pie for dinner, to use up the leftover roast, and it takes a lot of mash. I’ll do the onions, the carrots and the leeks. Here, you can use Maurice’s apron… - she handled him a grey apron.

As he deftly pulled the ribbons, crossing them behind his back and bringing them to the front again, it stuck him as odd that Maurice would cook. He'd have expected it from Alec instead...

\- You mean Maurice cooks? It’s kind of unexpected, he sounds so top-drawer… I'd be ready to bet Alec was more the cooking type.

Giovanna laughed. Angela had been amazed at that as well.

\- Does he cook? My dear, he’s really good and he loves it! He is top-drawer, at least he was back in England, but there’s very little work he hasn’t done. He and Alec worked at all kinds of odd jobs before the War.

Ralph tied the apron’s strings and started peeling the potatoes. He was fast and perfect at it.

\- Odd jobs? Like what? - somehow he couldn't imagine Maurice doing odd jobs.

\- Almost every king of work you can imagine. Scullery work, unloading trucks, digging ditches, baling hay, picking fruit and potatoes…

Ralph felt himself blush and in his mind he cursed his fair skin that blushed so easily. He lowered his head over the potatoes, trying to hide it. Why was everything so difficult with him? Twenty years ago the world had been a less complicated place, maybe… Still, he felt a painful sting of shame.

A warm wet hand squeezed his arm. Giovanna could follow what the boy was thinking as plainly as if he was speaking the words.

\- Don’t think about it, Ralph. You were alone and hurt, and much younger, and times are different. Maaurice and Alec were adults, and they chose their way, while you were forced to chose when you were not prepared to do it. Besides, my dear, it's all behind you now. You did what you could and that doesn’t make you a bad person.

If only he had gone straight to Southampton! If he hadn’t taken the time to go home and try to do the honourable thing! Silly of him, really. He thought he owed it to Odel to be the hero the younger boy believed him to be, and if not a real hero, at least a decent, honest fellow who could shoulder his part of responsibility. As he started peeling another potato, he sighed. Even if his intents were honourable, he had been stupid. How could he have expected his parents to understand, to accept such a thing, above all after learning it from that awful man? No self respecting parents would accept that, right? And his parents least of all!

\- What is it, Ralph?

He shook his head, like a young puppy coming out of water, and faced the the woman with a sad smile.

-Nothing important... - then he picked up another potato and added – Maybe the world was simpler back then. And they were together... yes, that made all the difference, I guess...

Giovanna could see something was disturbing him and changed the subject tactfully. As Smoke magically appeared at her feet as soon as she began grinding the meat, she told Ralph how the cat had arrived, almost ten years ago, in Mario's coat pocket.

\- Oh, what a day that was. I had made marmalade and while I was covering the glass pots, Julie and Santo asked if they could sample the leftovers. I answered yes, as all my attention was on the pots and the boiling water they were filled with.

She paused for a moment, with a smile. Ralph tried to imagine a four year-old Julie, all golden curls and big brown eyes, and a seven year-old Santo in short trousers, with mischief written all over his cute little face.

\- As I was screwing the lid on the very last pot, I heard Maurice laugh. You know how his laugh is contagious... When I looked up, my God! Julie was inside the cooking pot, and had marmalade up to her hair, not to mention her shoes, her clothes, and just imagine her face! Santo was sitting on the kitchen floor, beside the pot, with a spoon in each hand, and marmalade everywhere. Maurice was sitting on a chair, laughing hopelessly with tears in his eyes... Some scene!

Ralph remembered very little of his early childhood. His earliest memories were of entering school. Still he doubted there had ever been a scene like that. His mother didn't make marmalade and if she did, she would never have allowed him to sample it. He could almost hear her flat, cold voice: _Children should not eat between meals, least of all sweets! It spoils them!_

As far as he remebered, to his mother's opinion everything was likely to spoil children. Sweets, hugs and kisses, a glass of cold water after running in the sun, running in the sun, laughing, crying, reading stories, being told stories... She clearly believed childooh was to be endured and not lived. He had heard her say often enough that children should be seen and not heard, pursing her lips as if she intimately believed that children should neither be seen nor heard, so from a very early age he had taken the best care to do exactly that. A fresh laugh interrupted his train of though. Giovanna was still talking, he noticed.

\- … some warm water. As soon as Maurice managed to stop laughing, we proceeded to bathe the two little rascals on the patio, so into the tub they both went, clothes and all. You can imagine the laughs, the screams, washing jam and sticky orange peel out of Julie's hair, peeling jam and water soaked clothes from them... In the middle of all this, in come Angelo and Mario from school, jumping up and down and bellowing «Mamma, we found a kitten, it climbed up Mario's leg, he's so tiny...! Can we keep it?» Later, Maurice confessed that he'd had neither the heart nor the energy to say no.

The grim echoes of his mother's voice vanished from Ralph's head. Smoke was softly bumping his furry head against his legs. This was a different world. All the adults in that household knew about him, knew what he had done and still respected him, and trusted him to be near their children. This was a safe haven. If ever again his life turned sour, as it was bound to happen, he could always remember this place. With a smile, he began slicing the potatoes. He liked shepherd's pie.

 


	5. The sea, the sea always starting afresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning, Sunday lunch and Sunday afternoon. Ralph relaxes as much as he'll allow himself to relax, Maurice and Alec philosophize over the unfairness of life. There's reading, knitting, homework and checkers.

Ralph loved the sea. He liked the dry land too, the woods, the open fields, the hedge bordered lanes, even the city with its crowded streets and the cars, but he loved the sea.

Back in school - it seemed so distant now - he had wanted to study Geography because he was one of those rare people who can actually feel the planet as a whole, one closed sphere gracefully rolling through the great Universe, at once limited and infinite. He'd have wanted to travel around it, see it all, every bit of land and most of all every bay, every sandy beach, every cliff, every stony bit of coast, every mile of high sea where no land can be seen for days and days. He'd have wanted to travel around it for weeks and weeks, and then have a home to come back to, and a loved one to be there waiting for him. A cosy home and a loved one, was that such a monstrous thing to ask for? As soon as he felt the pain of the unanswered question come up, he willed it away. The sea, he thought, the sea always starting afresh, a new wave rolling in and never ever a last wave.

There was something calming about the sea, looking at the sea, listening to its soft roar, thinking about it, he couldn't tell what it was exactly, but he felt it all the same. Maybe it was the feeling of unbounded immensity. The sea was nearly endless, wide, deep, alive, so how ironic was it that people had named the planet Earth when it was almost all sea? When he'd been on a boat to Iceland he had had the feeling of being one little person, on a tiny ship, a speck of dust on the planet's watery surface, and that had been one great feeling. One minute fleck of dust, precariously standing on the wet deck of a minute boat, a slightly bigger fleck of dust after all, floating on the immense blue surface under the immense blue sky...

As he stood at the Upper Barraka Gardens, under the fierce sun, staring at the blue sea below, he felt much the same thing, a total and absolute freedom, because of how small and insignificant one single young man was in the Great Scheme of Things. What did it matter that he was the way he was? Maurice and Alec had been living happily together for nearly twenty years, were raising a girl, and the heavens had never opened to smite them with brimstone and fire. The Universe didn't care, he was totally free. In some corner of his mind, though, he knew it wouldn't last. He carried his little supply of brimstone and fire inside.

A drop of sweat trickled down his neck and he snapped out of his daydreaming. It was damned hot and there were no shades. The garden had no trees, there were hardly any trees in La Valletta, because there was so little water. He walked slowly back home, walking in the thin strips of shade close to the buildings. Though the streets were nearly deserted, it was almost eleven and people would be out of the churches any moment. Sunday Mass, whether in was in the Catholic churches or in the Anglican one, was about to end. Soon the streets would be crowded with families in their Sunday best hurrying home for lunch or to the Cafés for a cocktail before lunch.

Maurice, Alec and Julie would be home in a few minutes with Angela who always came for lunch every other Sunday. Giovanna and the boys would take longer, because Angelo would insist in walking Madina and Laura home first. The lunch was ready, they were to have cold chicken pie and salad, grapes and figs – the last figs, Giovanna had warned – for dessert. As he was setting the plates on the outside table, Ralph was thinking about the talk he'd had with Alec the previous night.

\- Do you want to go to church with us tomorrow? – Alec had asked – Don't feel you have to, though...

Church on Sunday mornings brought back too many memories, both good and bad, from School and home, for Ralph to welcome the thought. So, he was completely honest answering back.

\- I'd rather not if it's all the same to you... – and as Alec had smiled in understanding, he asked – Why do you go? I would never have pegged you for a church kind of person...

\- Oh, I quite enjoy it! There's something soothing about prayers and hymns, and I am not one hundred percent sure that there is no God... Giovanna and the boys go to the Catholic Service, of course, so we're a mixed household as far as religion is concerned. Maurice is the only real heathen...

\- But he goes as well, doesn't he? Why does he go? – it seemed to Ralph like the kind of thing no one would do unless one was forced to. All the reasons why going to church on Sundays ought to be mandatory were echoing in his mind, in his mother's words and voice, not at all a welcome memory... 

\- Everyone goes to church here. Be as boringly normal as you can, and people will leave you alone. It's the little insignificant things they care about, not the really important ones. That's what Maurice says, and he's got a point.

Light steps sounded behind him and a fresh girl's voice whispered in his ear.

\- Daydreaming, aren't you? I'll go change out of this infernal frock and come back in a jiffy to help you set the table. Giovanna and the boys are late as usual...

Julie was wearing a blue polka dot dress with a white sailor's collar and had her hair done in two long braids tied with little red bows. She hated dresses. Wearing a dress to church was as far as she could take it. Besides her school uniform, she wore mostly boy's clothes. She ran up the stairs to her room.

Angela was already coming out of the kitchen, tying a flowery apron over her dress.

\- Here, I'll put the glasses if you cut the bread. You are taller and have stronger arms...

Maurice had left his linen coat hanging over a chair and was already doing that. Alec gave Ralph the fruit bowl, full of rosy grapes and purple figs, to carry to the table. Smoke curled around his ankles and nearly made him fall. Mealtime was always so noisy and happy in that house he had no time to harbour dark thoughts. Julie, who had just come down in grey dungarees and a short-sleeved jumper, started cutting lemons to make lemonade. Alec took one lemon from the sink and asked, «Who wants a gimlet before lunch?», and Julie immediately raised her hand.

\- The question was for the adults only, miss...

\- Well, it was worth a try... - and she laughed. Ralph promised in a whisper he'd let her take a quick sip from his.

Giovanna and the boys arrived as they were having the cocktails. The table was set and ready and Julie was just bringing the salad bowl. Ralph followed her with two lemonade jugs. Julie had tasted his gimlet and proclaimed it «Disgusting!».

\- At last! - Alec exclaimed – I was going to ransack the pantry if you didn't arrive in the next five minutes! And Angela is about to faint from hunger...

\- I am not...! - laughed Angela.

\- No need for such extreme measures! We'll just go take off our hats and wash, if you can wait that long...!

***

In the warm Autumn afternoon, after a good lunch made even better by all the talking, the laughing, and all the little things that happen when a family joins around the table – the half full glass that someone knocks over, the friendly dispute of two kids over the last slice of pie, the grape that rolled off the table and someone stepped on it, and almost lost balance, the cat snatching a juicy piece of chicken from someone's plate – everything was silent. The smell of fresh baking hung in the air: Giovanna and Angela had made a cake for tea while Julie and Ralph did the lunch dishes, and a batch of fresh rolls was cooling in the open oven. Smoke slept on a patch of sun. Giovanna rocked herself gently on the rocking chair, knitting a navy-blue jumper she meant to give Ralph before he left. Sitting at the table, on one end, Angelo and Mario played checkers; on the other end, Julie fought with her Greek translation with Ralph's assistance. Santo sat on the floor, reading. Angela was curling on one of the wicker chairs with a fashion magazine. Maurice and Alec were leaning on the balustrade looking over the patio from the first floor, smoking.

Maurice looked at Ralph and saw himself, some thirty years ago, feeling that same awkwardness, asking himself the same unanswered and unanswerable questions. Why me? What is this? Why didn't someone warn me about it? What have I done wrong? How do I live with this, because I can't live without it? Why does this make me so different I cannot live a normal life? He longed to take the boy for a long walk and a friendly drink, and give him the answers. But he knew he couldn't. Alec had warned him against it, but it had hardly been necessary. Some things just cannot be handed over like that, they must be conquered and are somehow different according to each one of us. Maurice knew deep inside that the boy needed to find his own answers. Still it was painful to witness so much meaningless suffering.

The kid was tough as nails though. Like a block of solid granite, only with a tender heart beating at its core. He had grown up so unaccustomed to being loved he didn't require it. But he had an amazing reserve of love to give and a desperate will to give it. The granite exterior was vital to secure and protect all that inside, otherwise he would have shattered like a crystal bubble long time ago. Maurice couldn't help voicing how unjust it all felt to him, in a low whisper only Alec could hear.

\- It's so unfair life has to be so damned hard for that boy.

\- Life is unfair, Maurice, you ought to know it by now... It was unfair to you, to your mother who lost a son through no fault of her own, to Clive who gave all up to fear, to Giovanna who lost her husband to a stupid disease...

Maurice loved how Alec could set him right with a few words. Alec had the right amount of common sense and the talent to put it out in a simple, economic way that made everything seem so clear all of a sudden.

\- Not to you?

\- I'm lucky, it seems. I really can't complain. The worst things that ever happened to me were being away from you for a few days. You know, those nights waiting at the boathouse, those days before missing the boat, that tremendous week in Berlin...That's nothing compared to poor Ralph carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders at nineteen because he happens to prefer his own sex...

He looked back at Maurice. He could read him like an open book.

\- I know you are dying to step in, but don't. You might do more harm than good. Ralph has fought his way up till now and I dare say he'll manage from now on with the help you're providing...

\- But the thing is I am not helping...

\- Oh, but you are! You are giving that boy something precious, vital even, something no one has given him so far.

\- What am I giving him? Food and shelter for a couple of weeks, and a job below deck in one of the HMS Scoundrels, under some kind hearted half crook...

\- Oh, Maurice! For a clever man you can be absurdly dense sometimes! – Alec smashed his cigarette but in the glass ashtray – You are giving him a place where he belongs and the knowledge that there'll always be someone who cares about him. He has a mother and a father, and still no one had given him that before.

Coming from Alec, those words appeased Maurice. Alec wouldn't lie to him. He looked down. Ralph was leaning over Julie's notebook to correct something. Giovanna completed yet another row and folded her knitting, stuck the needles in the wool ball and kept it all in her knitting basket. Santo yawned audibly, closing his finished book. Mario let out a muffled cry of triumph after winning the third game in a row, and Smoke stretched with some grumbling sounds of complaint at the noise that had woken him up, only to turn around, curl back into a ball, and sleep some more. Angela, who had been dozing over her fashion magazine, got up and asked merrily:

\- Who's going to help me with the tea?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is my awkward attempt to translate a verse from Paul Valéry's poem «Le Cimetière Marin» (La mer, la mer toujours recomencée), a poem published in 1920 and one that Ralph would certainly love if he was given to poetic fancies, which sometimes I'm inclined to believe he was.


	6. An earthquake that opened a tiny crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Ralph think things over, though their thoughts run in different directions. Maurice falls asleep waiting for Alec to arrive home and fluff follows.

Alec had been deep in thoughts as he walked home after night shift, and he had taken more than the usual twenty minutes. There was still light in Ralph’s window. What a puzzling kid! Alec had spent some time revolving in his mind what little he knew about the boy, and still he couldn’t figure him out. Where did all that self-inflicted discipline come from? Alec thought it dangerously akin to torture, and what was it for? What could a boy that age have done to be so overwhelmed by guilt? Or was it shame?

At first and till recently, Alec had believed the boy felt ashamed of who he was. Though he had never suffered from that himself, he had seen it in Maurice, and knew how destructive it was. In the past week or so, he had grown less and less inclined to take that explanation for good. Ralph was learning to live with the hand he had been dealt, the trouble did not lie there. It wouldn’t be for having fumbled around with another boy at school. It had, in some sense, ruined his life, cut him from the education he was meant to have – and Alec would have liked to give a piece of his mind to those teachers – but he had gone over that as well. He was a brave young fellow, no doubts about it.

He put the kettle on to make tea and opened the tin to fill a small plate with biscuits. It was the routine of night shift nights, as Maurice would be up, reclining on their bed with a poetry book, waiting for him to arrive.  As he passed Ralph’s door, he noticed there was no light under the door, so the boy had put the light out and was maybe already asleep. 

Carrying two tea cups and a plate with biscuits on a tray, Alec entered the bedroom to find Maurice deeply asleep, in pyjamas and dressing gown, half reclined on the pilled pillows, a poetry book laying open beside him on the bed, cover up, and his reading spectacles still perched on his nose. It was long past four a.m. and Alec though how amazing it was that it had never happened before. With a smile and a sigh, he put down the tray on the dresser.

Even after twenty years of living together, Alec still though Maurice the finest-looking man alive and to him this was the most endearing image to treasure. He had never been given to deep introspective bouts, being essentially a practical man, but Maurice was his weak spot. Carefully, he closed the book, leaving a bookmark on the page, and placed it on Maurice’s bedside table.

\- Oh, Mr. Hall, sir… - he murmured, some distant image coming back to him, young Mr. Hall helping him move the pianoforte and then retiring up to his room with a book for only company, his eyes full of pain and confusion.

Carefully, he took off Maurice’s specs, folded them and placed them on top of the closed book. He was used to do the same at the clinic, patients would fall asleep over newspapers and book all the time. Slowly, he bent down and kissed Maurice, softly, trying not to wake him up. He was quite unsuccessful on the last action and was rewarded with a sleepy smile as Maurice stirred.

\- Alec…?

\- I’m sorry, love… I didn’t mean to wake you.

\- I didn’t mean to fall asleep, so let’s call it even. What time is it?

\- Half past, thirty-five past… I brought you up some tea.

As Alec changed into his pyjamas, Maurice walked up to the window to close it, as the autumn late nights were already rather cool.

\- The nights are getting colder.  In England this would be warm, of course, but I’ve grown used to Malta… – he took a long sip from the tea cup – This is really good, thank you so much for it. How’s your back?

Alec stretched with a groan. His work, regardless of how much he loved it, meant long hours standing, besides some heavy lifting on occasions, and he had been increasingly complaining of back pains, with the reluctant admission that he was no longer as young as he felt.

\- As good as can be expected, thank you. I could use a little back rub though… - and as Maurice started rubbing the tension out of his shoulders – Oh, that’s heaven! You would have made a fine physiotherapist, you know? With those wonderfully clever hands of yours… How was your afternoon?

\- The same as always… Bad news from Germany, a ship running late, a parcel dispatched to Amsterdam…  Julie brought an A on her Latin theme and a devilish Greek homework… even with a good help from Ralph it took her more than an hour to finish. Oh, and I think I may have found a ship for Ralph.

\- So soon? I’m going to miss that boy…

\- He’s been here for over two weeks now, and anyway the ship is still in Algiers and won’t be here for at least another fortnight. He’ll have time to prepare, and even to spill the beans if he feels like it. How does it feel now?

Alec rolled his shoulders tentatively.

\- Much better. But don’t stop, please, it feels so good….

\- I’ll miss him as well. And Giovanna is going to cry her heart out, I’m certain. Not to mention Angela and Julie… I don’t know how he does it.

\- He really is a good lad. It’s easy to like him. I almost wish he was staying for good, even though I know it would never do. He must find his own way. Oi! – Maurice’s hands had left his relaxed shoulders and were now exploring elsewhere – I don’t remember having given you permission to take such liberties, sir!

\- And I don’t remember the last time I heard you calling me sir…

*******

Ralph had heard Alec walking up the street, coming in and fumbling about in the kitchen. He had been sitting up and thinking, he did that often. During the day he was always occupied, felt carefree and happy, and had no time to dwell on what lay ahead for him. He was going away eventually. This was not his place and these people were not his family, no matter how hard he’d wanted both things to be true. He had some serious thinking to do.

Despite what Frank had told him, Ralph hadn’t known what to expect, if he had even considered there was anything to be expected. Which he hadn’t. He had always believed it was impossible, a myth, something out of an ancient Greek book, with no reality. Men like him were never to have happiness, nor peace, nor love.  Men like him were just wrong in every conceivable way. His experience during those few months after leaving school had only confirmed it. He had taken that in as a fact and had been schooling himself to live with it. Better to be prepared for the worst, that’s what he’d always thought.

He had built a good defence. His prospects were bleak, he’d live in a grey and dismal world, would have to keep to his kind, whether he liked it or not. It was a life of stealth, a complete lie and he wasn’t to expect love, domesticity or happiness. But there was a life ahead. With strong discipline and an everlasting attention, he would have a life. That was as far as he had got when he met Frank.

Meeting Frank had given him a different view. It seemed to be possible for one like him to carve a niche if he was cautious and discreet, and kept the right companies. It didn’t have to be at all bleak and grey, there was fun and even love of a kind to be had.  He hadn’t allowed himself to have high hopes, even then. There was no David around the corner for Ralph. He had instinctively though of Odell, but only momentarily, an instant’s thought that had vanished as fast as it had appeared. He hadn’t seen Frank and David together, but he was now certain their arrangement was not the same as Maurice and Alec’s. They were most probably like those upper-class couples where there was undoubtedly respect, a deep affection, love even between husband and wife but no real intimacy, and as little sex as possible. That would never do for Ralph, he desired intimacy and he liked sex too much to go without. He would mostly incline towards the dark horse, that much he knew and had known since he had first read those words.

He couldn’t know, when he left for Malta, that his certainties - he was young enough to have built a few of those - would be so terribly shaken. Maurice and Alec had left the life they knew behind to be together, they had done hard work together before the War, they had been together through the War, they had taken their life in their own hands and they were perfectly happy together. They shared the same room. They shared the same bed. And he was certain they had sex.

Oh, they bickered sometimes, good humoured squabbles over unimportant things but Ralph couldn’t help noticing how Alec and Maurice loved each other. Maybe it wasn’t plain and noticeable to everyone, but it certainly was to him. He would have noticed even if Frank hadn’t told him anything. They were remarkably discreet, he had to give them that, but he had seen how Maurice’s eyes searched for Alec as he entered any room, the way their hands touched over the table as if by chance, the way they had entire conversations without uttering a single word.

Knowing that was like an earthquake that opened a tiny crack in his iron fortress. It was possible, then. There was a least one way. Only a tiny crack, barely enough for a tiny ray of light to creep in. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and sit on his bed, in the dark, hugging his knees, half asleep and hazily thinking «I want this. I want this for me, someday. » and then forget it all in the morning. Later, he would only remember it as a nebulous sensation of deep peace and hope, something he could not place nor know where it came from and usually dismissed as useless weakness. He had no place for weakness if he wanted to survive.

So, he had a good deal of thinking to do. He would be leaving soon, and he would never be coming back. He couldn’t come back. He couldn’t trick himself into believing he had acquired a home and a family. He hadn’t and believing the contrary would only make him weak. He had a family, even if none of them would give him the time of day, and there was a place where they lived though he was well aware he could never live there nor call it home. He was alone, he’d have to face the world on his own, stand up for himself, for no one was going to do it for him and he wouldn’t have it anyway. He had his pride and his self-respect, and he was going to live by them. He was going to do his best with what he had. That was settled.

He knew he would treasure a few memories. The ships sailing into the harbour under the golden sunlight. The blue Mediterranean as far as the eye could see. Sunday lunch in the sunny patio. Maurice, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, seasoning the salad and Alec’s soft tenor voice humming a sea shanty while he brought the plates from the kitchen. Julie practising with her violin and struggling with her Greek translations. Helping her and feeling this was like having a little sister. Angela in her pink dress asking him for a magazine from the newspaper stand when he went to get Maurice’s papers. Mario and Santo asking him to play football with them and how much fun it had been. Giovanna making him eat double helpings at breakfast and being so motherly he had begun to wonder what it would feel like having a loving mother. The big grey cat curling at his feet the day he arrived. If only…

«Stop it this instant! Memories, all these things are just memories, just good things to keep you going when it gets rough… You don’t belong here, and they are not your family! » - he commanded himself.  Alec was coming up the stairs, softly humming something. Ralph put out the light. «Still, if only it was possible…», he thought, vaguely, as he was falling asleep. He remembered nothing in the morning.


	7. Unloading the cargo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph kind of spills the beans, but it doesn't seem to help much.

\- If ever you feel the need to unload that cargo, I’ll be here.

Maurice had told him these words on his first day in Malta. During the early days, Ralph had been unwilling to confide, and the man hadn’t pressed him. A whole month had gone by since and sometimes it seemed he had always lived there. Once or twice he’d felt ready to tell his _complicated story_ to Giovanna or to Maurice, but he hadn’t done it in the end. Now Maurice had informed him that the ship would be arriving soon, he had mixed feelings.

He knew he must go. In a way, he was anxious to go. That household gave him a sense of belonging, of comfort and safety he had never felt before – not even in school – and one he knew he couldn’t become accustomed to. But he was going to miss it terribly. Now, at night, he would sit in bed till long after midnight, with the light out, going over all the good and comforting memories he had gathered in Malta. Giovanna teaching him to make a perfect omelette, or a simple stew (You’ll need to cook when you are not aboard. And even if you never need it, you might as well know how to do it anyway. I taught my boys as well…!), Alec looking intently at him as if trying to figure something out, and then shaking his head with a half-smile, Julie telling him funny little things she’d noticed in Church while looking discreetly around during the sermon. Oh, he was going to miss them all so much!

\- I’ll get used… - and once he’d almost jumped, startled by the sound of his own muffled voice. He hadn’t meant to say anything.

After lunch, when he had helped with the dishes, Maurice invited him for a walk.

\- I must stretch my legs and walk at least half of the lunch out of me. Come on, we’ll have a drink at the Cordina afterwards. The day after tomorrow you pack, there’s no way of saying when we’ll be able to do this again…

« _We’ll never do this again_ » Ralph thought « _I’ll never come back here. Way too risky, I’d lose all my self-control in a minute._ » He had made up his mind about this. He wasn’t coming back. Even if the ship he was on would dock at La Valletta, he’d not go ashore. It had been a painful decision to make, but he believed it was a necessary one. He couldn’t afford to be reckless, he thought.

They had walked for more than an hour, Ralph absorbed in his own thoughts, Maurice discreetly observing him. The warm autumn afternoon air was full of the small noises of everyday life. Maurice strolled unhurried along the sidewalk, stopping here and there to greet people he knew. Ralph followed, his mind working feverishly. It had to be then, that same afternoon, or else he’d never say it. Maurice deserved to know, and Ralph wouldn’t trust any other man.

When at last they sat under a white parasol outside the Caffé Cordina, Maurice ordered two gin and tonics, and Ralph plunged half blindly.

\- Maurice…

The man lit a cigarette and waited, his clear grey blue eyes on the boy.

\- There’s something I’d like to tell you…

He stopped almost immediately, not knowing where to begin. The man didn’t smile. Instead, he offered to start.

\- Let me begin the story, it will make it easier on you.  Up to a point, it’s my own story only a few years later. Correct me when I go wrong.  – he blew out the smoke and went on – Ever since you can remember, you felt there was something not quite right about you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you felt it and it wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad either, only to some extent frightening, like you were carrying inside something that might harm you some day. Then you began school and you sort of went with the tide. It became easier, but it was still there. Some time during middle school you discovered Ancient Greece and things began to fall into place.

Maurice paused. The young man was hanging on his words.

\- Old Homer sure beats the Bible for some good stories, and the sheer difficulty of the language makes one appreciate the conquer, isn’t it? Then came Plato, and suddenly having a big crush on another fellow was no longer scary: it had a history, it had been done before, it was an honourable thing. Plus, it is all in such an ideal world… it makes you feel safe, right? – he smiled, remembering Clive. How long hadn’t he given Clive a single thought? Poor Clive!

\- How am I going?

Ralph smiled. Just the mere ghost of a smile, fugitive and sad.

\- Quite accurate, really…

He drew in a deep breath.

\- You are a dangerous man to meet, Maurice. – the almost invisible smile appeared again, and then he was dead serious – You began it well, so I’d better let it all out. All you just said is true. But it’s not exactly that. I’ve been there, of course, but…

\- I know it’s not exactly this. This is just the prologue. Because, just when you were beginning to feel safe, you discovered sex and you liked it a lot. That is where our stories begin to diverge: it took me much longer to discover sex.

The young man took a cigarette out of Maurice’s cigarette case on the table and let Maurice light it. His hands trembled slightly as he wrapped them around the little flame to protect it from the breeze.

\- You have the right to know. After all, you trusted me, you let me into your home, you sat me at your table, with your family. All I hope is that you won’t regret having trusted me after you hear what I have to say. Still, it’s a risk I must take…

He reclined back on the wicker chair and began telling everything. From the cold and lonely years of his childhood to school, to the discovery of what made him different, from his early friendships and early crushes to Hazell and leaving school in disgrace. From that painful train journey home to the day he met Frank. His voice was calm and detached, as if he was telling somebody else’s story and not his own.  When he finished, he shut his eyes, crinkling his face, as if completely repelled by what he had just said. Or tremendously frightened. After a brief pause, he added:

\- There. It’s all out now.

Maurice looked straight into Ralph’s eyes.

\- Is it?

All the defences were up again in a split second.

\- Of course it is, what more could there be…?

He was almost aggressive, and Maurice felt hurt.

\- Damn it, Ralph! I’m on your side!

Ralph realized he had been cruel and relaxed a little.

\- I know you are, and I’m sorry I was such a prick, but I cannot afford to be soft. Not even with you, not now, not anymore… I’ll be gone in two days.

\- You are still here though…

A nearly inaudible sigh left Ralph’s lips. He had never talked about this with anyone. Not even with Frank. He had never even admitted to himself most of what was going through his mind at that moment. He wasn’t certain he could put it in words. But Maurice deserved to know, and he owed it to himself to let it all out. He doubted he would ever find another person he could actually tell it to.

\- I’ve never told this to anyone and most probably will never tell it again. Frank knows some parts, but not the whole story. I loved school. It was the one place where I felt whole and at home, the only place where I fit in and did well. The day I was sent down, it hurt so much I cannot begin to define it. It was beyond misery, beyond anything I had experienced so far…

He pressed his fingertips to his eyes, and Maurice noticed once again the scars on the side of his left hand. He knew now where Ralph had got them. As he observed them close, they looked rather recent, though a long and thin one seemed to have healed under the others. The boy lowered his voice, and almost whispered.

\- It was so bad that on the train home I cut my hand on a broken beer bottle just to have a pain I could deal with.  – noticing the appalled look on the older man’s face, he added – It worked but made me a bit scared about myself. I can stand a good deal of physical pain, I found out, I even welcome it at times, but don’t deal well with the other thing.

He sat there silently, for a minute or so, eyes unfocused, still as a statue. Maurice said nothing and waited not daring to break whatever the impulse was that had led the young man to talk. After a while, Ralph came out of his reverie and began again.

\- The day before I left school – I don’t remember most things all that well, I was in a kind of shock I dare say – anyway, I got a rumour about Odell wanting to raise hell on account of my disgrace and I sent for him. He stood there for a while, I made him wait, you see, just so he might think it over and give it all up, but as he was so very quiet, I looked up and I saw his face. His eyes. He was willing to put his reputation on the line for me. To have the whole house do the same. For me. He believed it all be a vicious lie, and there was such unashamed adoration in those eyes…

Maurice could see how Ralph’s expression had softened till it became sweet and tender. Whoever Odell was, whether he knew about it or not, Ralph was absurdly in love with him. He wondered if the young man was even aware of the fact.

\- He didn’t know, of course, and I couldn’t tell him, not in so many words. He was too young. My first impulse was to scorn the whole thing, to be harsh, to hurt him and make him give up that folly. To make him hate me, if it was what it took.  I didn’t want him to be touched by any of it. Better destroy his idol, I thought, than let him be destroyed. But it didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, it didn’t seem to make any difference, he kept looking at me as if I held the secret of the universe...

Again, he sat silent, staring ahead with eyes unfocused. Distractedly, the index of his right hand was tracing the lines of his scar. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the golden stone slabs that paved the square. Ralph drank half his gin before he proceeded. His voice was levelled and calm.

\- You see, I couldn’t tell him I was almost every bit as guilty as that disgusting man thought me to be… I was older, I was in a position of power… the responsibility was mine, it would always have been mine… there wasn’t anything the headmaster could have done to make it different, he really had no choice… – he guessed Maurice was about to say something – Don’t, please. If I stop now, I may not be able to finish. This is hard to do…

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, recalling what he had meant to say. Images he had willingly kept out of his mind were all coming back: Odell looking at him with those bewildered eyes, not understanding why it was all happening the way it was and his own desperate will to make the younger boy leave before the pain became too much to bear.

\- I gave him my Phaedrus then. It would help him when the time came, I thought, and I warned him about it too. It’s just a myth, I told him, don’t get any ideas, it doesn’t exist anywhere in real life. « _I’ll always keep it._ » that’s what he said, and you cannot imagine how that hurt.

He finished his drink and signalled for another. For a couple of minutes, he appeared to be lost in his memories, biting his lower lip, his eyes very bright. Maurice could follow the struggle and was amazed at how cool and detached he managed to sound about something that was clearly so meaningful to him. How could someone so young bottle up so many deep feelings inside him and not break down completely? He guessed Ralph was less than an inch away of cutting his hand again, or do something drastic like that, just to turn it into the kind of pain he could handle. Discreetly, he took his lighter out of the boy’s reach.

As Ralph drank the first half of his second drink, in small sips, still looking in the distance, he looked very young and very tired, nearly exhausted, his expression open, unprotected. Maurice hung on his words, knowing he was about to hear something the boy wouldn’t confess to anyone else. When it came, it was in a soft voice, eyes on the table, as if talking to himself and not to the man sitting in front of him.

\- I kissed him. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was hurt and disgusted, with myself mostly, and he was so… - he struggled for the right word - … so clean! I came to my senses at once, obviously, and sent him away. He was going to ask when we could meet again, but I cut his word and sent him away. Still, it was wrong of me to do it…

He couldn’t say anything more, he was drained. Silently, Maurice touched the boy’s hand over the table, just a light, casual touch, to let him know he was not alone. He remembered the delicious agony of discovering himself in love, the exhilaration, the light-headedness… Ralph, who had been deprived of so much already, had also been denied that little happiness. He had nothing but a sordid mess to remember.

\- I almost wish you would stay for a few more days…

 The young man finished his second drink and looked straight at the older man. His guards were all up once more, but his voice was still a bit shaky and emotional.

\- You were all wonderful. You and Alec, and Julie, Giovanna and the boys, even Angela were the closest I ever got to having a real family and I’ll never forget you. But your house is an island within an island. I can’t get used to it. I’ll have to live my life out of here, where people are less kind and far less accepting. 

*******

\- Ralph is in love. I don’t know if he’s aware of it, though.

Alec was standing next to the low wall of the Gardens, overlooking the harbour. Maurice was sitting on a wooden bench. He had met Alec at the Clinic, instead of waiting at home. He wanted to talk freely, and he knew walking always helped him to see things clearer.

Ralph had been distracted throughout the late afternoon. He had helped Giovanna cook a delicious tuna casserole for dinner, he had helped with the dishes afterwards and all the time he had been either unnaturally silent or over talkative, almost boisterous.

\- He told me his story.

\- The whole story? – Alec asked, still looking at the sea.

Maurice smiled. Alec was so direct, even after all these years of softening.

\- Pretty much everything right up to the moment he was sent down from school and then how everything went downhill from then on until he eventually met Frank… The complicated bits, as his life seems to be way too rich in those.

\- If I was one to believe in such nonsense, I’d say he was born under a particularly unlucky star.

\- And since you are not…?

Alec turned around and approached the bench.

\- Since I’m not… - he sat down beside Maurice – I’ll just say the boy has a damned bad luck. Either he makes the wrong choices or has them made for him. Of course, he’s been dealt a bad hand to start…

\- Much the same hand you and I got…

Alec looked at him, his eyes twinkling in the feeble street lamp light.

\- I wasn’t meaning that. That isn’t really a hand you’re dealt, it’s just who you are. I meant his unloving people and the absurd headmaster – and obnoxious teachers, let me tell you – he had to put up with. I wonder how they sleep at night, after having sent a young man on his way like that, all alone in the world! I bet they go to Church every Sunday and think of themselves as good people!

They sat side by side, silently contemplating the harbour below. Only a few lights reflected in the dark water, and they could hear the faint lapping of the sea on the stone walls. Alec was still very angry. Maurice could tell it by his rapid, shallow breathing, a sure sign that he was having some trouble to control his anger.

\- Calm down, Alec. There is nothing we can do now…

Alec’s hand trembled slightly under his. His voice, though, was calm and pleasant when he answered back.

\- I know, and that’s what makes me so mad about it! You know me… just let me nurse my anger for a couple of minutes more… Then we’ll go home, have a nice cup of tea and sleep over it.  I trust you made sure that HMS Scoundrel’s captain will keep the boy safe…

Maurice got up and straightened his clothes, his hands brushing his trousers.

\- It doesn’t even qualify as a legitimate HMS Scoundrel. It’s a small ship, with a small crew… Just to give Ralph a starting point. He’ll soon find something better…


	8. Our ship she is ready...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph is leaving and everyone in the family will miss him.

Sitting at her desk, Julie had just shut her journal after a writing spree, and she had poured her heart out on the written page. She would turn fourteen next spring and growing up was proving to be a complicated affair. Her journal was her private confident, the mute witness of her growing pains, her swinging moods and her doubts. She wanted to become a grown up but the fact that it couldn’t be achieved overnight was rather tiresome.

Both her Da and Giovanna had had long private talks with her about the changes her body was undergoing, what it all meant and how she was to cope with it. She had asked all the questions that had popped into her head and decided to relax and see what would happen. In the end, it hadn’t been as bad as she had feared. She hated wearing a bra – she called it «the torture device» - but had reconciled with the need for it, and though she detested the way she got grumpy and emotional around the time her period was due, she suffered no period cramps (Giovanna had warned her of the possibility and her Da had told her that, if it ever happened, Aspirin was usually enough to deal with them). « _Well_ », she used to tell herself, « _Da and Uncle have to shave every morning, Mario is learning to do it and has been walking around with a piece of sticking plaster on his chin, and poor Santo has had two nasty spots on the left side of his nose for days now, so I guess we all have our crosses to bear, as Giovanna says…_ »

She had just been writing about Ralph. Although she had only known him for a little over a month they had connected at once and had become good friends. She had grown used to having Ralph around, but more than that, she felt a deep affinity with the young man. And Ralph was going away. They were going to skip tea that very afternoon and have an early dinner because at 10 p.m. Ralph had to be on board. Julie felt her heart as small as a nut and as heavy as a lead ball.

She was not in love with him, but she loved him deeply and would miss him dreadfully. She knew it wasn’t a crush she had developed for Ralph. She was glad of it too, for in some inexplicable way she felt he would never like her that way, and on the other hand she firmly believed she would never ever fall in love with a boy unless he was exactly like Alec or Maurice. It was as if they were kindred spirits. Julie could almost always tell what Ralph was thinking, even if sometimes she couldn’t really understand why he had to torture himself so and to be so damned hard on himself. And on a handful of different occasions he had answered to questions she hadn’t even asked aloud but were brewing in her mind. Oh, she was going to miss him!

\- May I write to you? – she had asked him a few days before.

Ralph had looked at her with an unfathomable expression in his blue eyes, and for a split second she had feared he would say no. But when the answer came, he was smiling.

\- Of course you can. I have no real address, but if you send the letters to the Poste Restante in Bristol and write «at sea» after my name, they’ll keep it for two months. After that, they’ll return it to you, so even if I miss a couple of your letters, I’ll probably get most. I’ll send you post cards, is it a deal?

That had been settled. Now, after changing from her school uniform into the grey dungarees and pink sweater he had told her that were her most becoming outfit, she searched through her bookcase for a notebook to give Ralph as a parting gift.  After picking and rejecting a few, she made the final choice. A thick cloth bound French notebook, one of the three Maurice and Alec had brought from Paris. She had noticed how Ralph had looked appreciatively to the French notebooks she used to keep her school notes, and all the little tricks and rules he had taught her to help keep her notebooks tidy and helpful to study from, so she instinctively understood that the young man’s methodical side would love the Séyès grid.

*******

Alec had just left his shift at four. He had juggled his shifts, doing two double shifts the week before, to be able to see Ralph off. His deeply caring nature made him worry about the boy even if his fierce love of freedom told him Ralph needed to go his own way and find his own balance. But even with all this knowledge, he felt conflicted. He was more than ever ready to agree with Maddox and his harsh but true words to define young Lanyon: damaged goods. Deep inside, he was glad the young man had promised to send Julie post cards, as it meant he was willing not to completely sever all ties.

Besides, he wanted to be at Maurice’s side when the time came for the ship to go. He knew Maurice would be very emotional. He had grown deeply attached to the boy and felt responsible for him in a way. Alec got angry when things maddened him, and he would have punched Ralph’s principal, had he been given the chance, for heartlessly turning the boy away from the only safe place he knew, without a second thought, even if Ralph had done something wrong and deserved some kind of punishment for it. But Maurice wasn’t like that, he turned all his anger inside and left it there, worrying himself into a tight knot… Moreover, seeing someone he cared about go away in a ship would probably bring back memories, of another painful send off, one that hadn’t happened in the end. Theirs was a commitment for life and he wouldn’t leave Maurice to see to this alone.

On the way home, he had picked up a small tin box from a friend’s repair shop. It had been Alec’s first aid kit box during the War, and he had retrieved it from an old trunk, battered and rusty, but this fellow he knew had offered to straighten and polish it and it looked almost new. He was now going to stock it again with those few indispensable things, a couple of bandages, a roll of sticking plaster, a small carbolic soap, a bottle of Aspirin, another of iodine solution, and his old scissors and tweezers. Since the boy seemed to be prone to injuries, either accidental or self-inflicted, it was a perfect parting gift. He thought about the whole appalling story Maurice had told him the day before and felt a shiver down his back. « _A ten-foot wall topped with broken glass, the stupid careless git! He might have broken his neck…_ », he muttered angrily « _I suppose he counts himself lucky for having come out of it with only a hand ripped to pieces and a severe infection! Don’t they learn anything useful in those posh schools?_ »

*******

Giovanna closed the oven’s door on the shepherd’s pie she had been making for dinner. On the table she had a bowl full of water with eight big apples already halved, cored and peeled floating. She was going to prepare an apple _Tarte Tatin_ for dessert. She was feeling unsettled and sad. The idea of Ralph going away seemed so absurd to her as if she was sending one of her boys to sea. Though her conscious self was well aware of the logic of it all, and though Maurice had told her Ralph’s complicated story, deep down inside, her motherly nature could not accept the need to send a young man away, alone like that, with no home to come back to, no family to miss him…

\- He knows we will miss him, Giovanna. He knows he’ll always be able to come back here. He knows he’s not alone…

\- But you just said you don’t believe he’ll ever come back!

It had been Alec the one to give her some rest.

\- He’s like a sparrow, Giovanna. He must fly away, otherwise he’ll wither and die. He has already begun to get restless. He knows there’s a place here for him, and food, and rest, and care. Anyway, he’ll only come back if he’s in dire need and not before.

She could reconcile with that particular idea, the little wild bird flying away, proud and free, but how hard she wanted to keep him from harm under her wing! Now she was doing all she could to ensure him the best possible send off. She was cooking his favourite foods, she had helped him pack, she had given him the jumper she’d knitted for him, and she had sent him out, to bid farewell to the places he’d grown to love and to light a candle in the Cathedral, for luck.

He had tried to resist:

\- I’m not a Catholic, Giovanna, and I don’t really believe in luck…

\- Do it anyway. It won’t harm you, and you can never be too lucky on a ship. The sea is wide and deep, you will need all the help you can get. – she had felt dangerously close to tears, so she had hurried him away with a smile – Off you go.

As she sliced the apples, she remembered Ralph doing the same thing about a week before, how precise and neat he was, his intent expression and the smile that made him look so young and happy whenever she praised his work. He was such a sweet boy, just like her own boys!

The first thing she had been told about Ralph, she would never forget it, was how his parents were alive but wouldn’t care for him because of something he had done at school. Now she knew what he had done, and she couldn’t help to wonder what kind of religious scruple could make a mother shun an only son for so little. Giovanna had that ability, common among some Catholics, to follow the bulk of her religion’s principles but safeguard her own opinions on important matters: Ralph had been punished for his fault with an absurd harshness. Losing his bright future, losing the school he loved was much more than enough. Losing his parent’s love was inhumanely hard and she felt a deep pity for the suffering such an action undoubtedly brought on both parents and child.

*******

When they all sat around the table, it was only a few minutes after six and no one seemed to be hungry. But as Giovanna brought the golden shepherd’s pie, Julie gave the last touch to the green salad and Maurice opened a special bottle of extremely good French wine, the moods seemed to lift. Alec was the first to shake away the lingering sadness.

\- Come on, you all! Ralph is going on with his life, he’s not heading for the gallows! Cheer up and let’s take care of this delicious pie and that amazing bottle of wine. Not you, missy! – because Julie was picking up her glass, preparing to ask for a little wine – There’s lemonade for you and Santo.

\- I’ll have the lemonade as well, please. – said Ralph with a wink aimed at Julie – I’d better keep my sea legs…

He had already changed, and before his amiable wink at her Julie had been thinking he looked strange, as if he was already another person. She had grown accustomed to see him wearing Angelo’s old clothes, mostly light blue, beige and tan, and the dark blue of his new attire gave him a more mature look. He looked like an adult. That playful wink reassured her, and she winked back.

Ralph kept mostly silent during dinner. He knew that as soon as he got up from the table, his leaving would be final. He’d never sleep upstairs again, nor wake up in the early morning with the first sunlight, in the silent house, and move about noiselessly registering the first small sounds of life waking up, or lie in bed, very still and quiet, for a few moments more, just savouring the soft warmth of bedclothes and the silence. « _This is what the fellows who had a good family life missed during the first week at school I guess_ » - a distressing thought that had been crossing his mind since that morning. It was painful and he’d had to hang on to the idea that it was the right thing to do. He was shouldering his share of responsibility for those he had come to love; they would be better off without him, for he was a liability, not an asset.

They lingered around the table, talking about little unimportant things, even after the _tarte_ and the coffee. Smoke jumped onto Ralph’s knees unnoticed and sat there purring and bumping his soft furry head against the boy’s hands as he fed him pie scraps. Just before nine, Maurice got up.

\- I hate to be the one to say this, but you must all say your goodbyes. We’ll have to leave in about fifteen minutes if Ralph is to be aboard by ten.

Everybody went silent. Then Angela stood up and walked around the table to meet Ralph, who was already standing too. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on both cheeks.

\- I’m going to miss you, Ralph. Do take care, will you?

He held her hand between his and smiled.

\- I’ll do my best. Pay some attention to that clerk in the Customs Office, he really likes you…!

Angela blushed.

\- Cheeky!

The older boys shook hands with him rather solemnly and said nothing. Santo, the most impulsive of the three, added a quick hug, and a whispered « _God bless you…_ ».

Julie kissed and hugged him fiercely. She said nothing, for fear of breaking in tears. Ralph hugged her back and whispered « _Farewell and remember me. You know the song…_ »

For a moment Julie was certain she was going to disgrace herself and cry like a baby, but she summoned all her courage and actually managed to whisper the first verse « _Our ship she’s ready to sail away…_ » before having to rush out and up the stairs to cry her heart out in her room.

Ralph looked helplessly around, and Alec nodded calmly.

\- Don’t mind her. She’s very young and she’s never had to say good bye to anyone she loves before. It’ll do her good, a bit of suffering strengthens the soul. She’ll cry for some days and then she’ll be her old self again, only a little wiser.

He knew Alec was probably right, so he picked up Smoke and rubbed his nose on the cat’s furry head.

\- Good bye Smoke, old fellow. You’ve been a brick! I guess there’s a cat on the ship, but there’s no cat like you!

Giovanna wrapped him up in a motherly hug. Then, she pushed him slightly away and straightened his hair with a caress.

\- I do wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll always keep you in my prayers. God bless you, my boy…

Ralph had been to the Cathedral in the morning. He hadn’t made his mind about religion and wasn’t certain of what he did or did not believe about it. His parents would probably be livid if they saw him lighting a candle in a Catholic church, but he couldn’t care less. Giovanna believed it would bring him luck, and that was good enough for him. He had lit the candle and left it there burning.

Maurice was again sitting at the table, writing something on a small card. He then kept it inside a brand-new leather wallet and gave it to Ralph.

\- Here, I too have a parting gift for you.

The young man took the wallet and thanked. It was just big enough to fit in the inside pocket of his jacket and closed with a small strap and a press button. Inside he found the card Maurice had been writing. It was an ordinary business card, with Maurice’s name, the office address, and the telephone number. On the other side was an odd sequence of numbers and capital letters. He looked up questioningly.

\- It’s a code. This is the way most people who do business with me contact me. I have a copy of that code, so if ever you need help of any kind, wire me and put the code at the end. If you are hard for money, I’ll pay on receiving, it can be done. – he knew Ralph was going to say something – No, please, whatever you were going to say, just don’t. I know you are resolved to stay away from Malta, and I understand it. But you may need help, so don’t cut us off. We love you. Let us at least keep in mind that if we never see you or hear from you again, it’ll mean you are well.

Ralph said nothing, not even when he noticed there were a couple of banknotes besides the card. Ralph, who could fend for himself since he was six or seven, who had never let anyone do anything for him, who had always taken all the responsibilities wherever he went, who had refused a five-pound note from his own father, who had accepted help, but not money from Frank Maddox. This was different. He just smiled, a half smile, and slipped the wallet into his pocket. At the door, he looked behind one last time. He had been happy there and had not been expelled nor forced to leave. There was a place he could think of as home and that was a gift no one could take away from him.

*******

Alec and Maurice walked Ralph to the dock. At least, Maurice thought as they walked along the waterfront, he was certain the captain would keep the boy safe. The man was a middle-aged Czech, a kind-hearted crook, who had, that Maurice knew of, two wives and two broods of children, one in each side of the Mediterranean. He’d do it because he knew Maurice would inquire after the boy, and he was terribly afraid of Maurice, who knew too much about him and had all the means and the power to make use of what he knew.

The boy gave each one a quick hug and then climbed aboard and never looked back. As soon as he disappeared inside the ship, they walked away, up the stairs and the streets to the Upper Barrakka Gardens where they sat overlooking the port and watching the ship sail away.

\- Do you still think you could have done more? – asked Alec.

Maurice took some time answering back. When he did, his voice sounded strong and certain.

\- No, not anymore. It’s up to him now. He knows we’re here for him if he needs us.

He paused for a few seconds and then he added:

\- I’m only worried about Julie…

It’s was Alec’s time to smile and dismiss Maurice’s worries.

\- Don’t. Let her pine a little, it’s good for her. As I said before, a little suffering is good for the soul.

\- I’ll never know where you get these ideas… - and remembering something he had promised himself he’d do – I must send a cable to Maddox in the morning, just to let him know.

 

 

 

This chapter has a few (cryptic) references to the story Ralph tells Frank Maddox in [this splendid fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662331).

I was forgetting to give the right credit where it is due: the song Ralph and Julie quote as they part is[«Farewell, my love, and remember me»](https://youtu.be/Idbu5zgePWk) and I found it following a whole complicated line of thoughts (the kind of thing our mind does when it is used to building bridges across thoughts and readings) that begun thanks to [bittergreens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittergreens/pseuds/bittergreens) and the amazing playlist that accompanies [Over fathoms deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744148/chapters/3724331), a fic that will break my heart before stitching it together again.


End file.
